every moment anew
by adele4
Summary: Post 1x13; Merlin comes back from the island and finds that Arthur is not at all happy to see him, and they struggle through a few misunderstandings.


_Spoilers for season one, 1x13 in particular._

_Disclaimer__: I don't own BBC's Merlin, I just write this for fun and make no money with it._

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every moment anew

On the ride back, and the whole rest of the day, he'd been in shock at what had almost happened, and at what did happen, at the amount of power he could unleash. But when he made his way through the castle's court in the morning after he and Gaius returned from the island, with instructions from the physician for the future treatment of Arthur's wounds, he was feeling strangely elated.

And as he walked through the familiar corridors to Arthur's room he hadn't expected to ever see again, it was as if a terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders: the threat that Nimueh had been for so long, to him, to Arthur, to Camelot, to the ones dear to him, was vanquished; and Arthur was alive, his mother was alive, Gaius was alive, he was alive, and when he finished preparing the breakfast he'd brought and went to draw back the curtains to Arthur's bed, it was with a kind of savage joy that he watched him, breathing, whole.

He was wholly unprepared to Arthur's reaction upon waking up.

The prince liked to laze around in bed, when he could get away with it, watching him work and telling him to fetch various things for him, so Merlin sometimes almost forgot that he was perfectly capable, through long training, to be fully awake within instants: in this case, Arthur opened his eyes, took one look at his face, and jumped out of the bed and to his feet in a manner that seemed so menacing and almost mad that Merlin instinctively backed away, almost as far as to the door, before remembering himself and stopping.

Arthur didn't follow him, but remained where he was, in front of his bed, and stared at him with utter astonishment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and he sounded almost frightened.

"What – I –" Merlin, who had no idea how to deal with this, stammered. "I brought you breakfast."

He gestured to the table helplessly. Arthur followed his eyes, stared at the breakfast for a moment, then back at him.

"Why are you back?" he asked, more quietly; the shock and the edge of fear seemed gone now, but the look in his eyes was even more searching, piercing than before.

"I –" Merlin began, and remembered that his last words to Arthur before he left must have sounded very much like a farewell: it was what they were meant to be. But Arthur hadn't known, and certainly hadn't acted put off or surprised, even less hostile and suspicious like he did now... "There was something I needed to do," he tried to explain. "I wasn't sure I would come back."

Arthur continued to observe him intently.

"Did you do something to lose it?" he finally asked.

"To what?"

Arthur sighed deeply and passed a hand over his forehead, and for a moment this seemed almost familiar.

"Did you, Merlin," he said in a slow and patient voice. "Do something. That made your magic disappear."

Merlin froze completely. Now he did back away until his back touched the door, and felt trapped like he never had before in his life, blocked between the wood and Arthur's cold, serious gaze, and he knew, in the bit his mind that wasn't shut down by the shock, that he shouldn't be reacting like this if he wanted any, any chance to deny, if maybe Arthur somehow meant something different than he thought,...

"What – I don't know what you're talking about," he managed to stammer.

Arthur gave him another of these "you idiot"-gazes.

"Don't you think we're past the point where you need –" he began, in an annoyed tone, but then he got a really good look at Merlin's face and stopped. "You really actually thought I didn't know," he stated.

Merlin didn't answer.

"I thought," Arthur said slowly, walking forward casually, and it was only when he stopped that Merlin realised, and he paled, that he had been edging towards his sword that was lying on the table, unsheltered, "that, after you defeated the Questing Beast, so _anyone_ would lose their last doubts about what you are, you decided to do the only smart thing and leave Camelot." His voice had gradually gained that despairing, annoyed edge that Merlin knew very well (the same voice in which Arthur told him about hand signals Merlin was very certain he'd never seen before but Arthur was convinced he should have known already). Arthur silently looked at him for a moment, while Merlin tried to breathe normally; at least, things were beginning to make some semblance of sense. "But I was wrong," Arthur concluded, letting a question linger at the end of the sentence.

It was the familiar tone that enabled Merlin to answer, in a relatively natural voice.

"Well, yes."

Arthur sighed deeply.

"So. Why are you here?" And then, just as Merlin was beginning to think that maybe things weren't going to be that bad after all – Arthur had known about his magic, and he'd let him go, he'd been glad he'd escaped, it could have been better but it could definitely have been _worse_ – he added, while looking at him through narrowed eyes and taking up the sword: "What do you want? What are you trying to gain by this?"

Merlin opened his mouth and closed it again. He found no anger within himself. One day earlier, he might have felt wronged beyond words by this direct suspicion. He'd always been afraid of Arthur finding out, though he had also _hoped_ (dreamt of it making things better between them instead of worse), and he could have forgiven it if Arthur's loyalty to his father's laws or even his learnt distrust prevailed against him. But Arthur had _known_ and remained silent and let him go, yet _still_ didn't trust him, after all they'd been through – only, he knew now, and it must have been the kind of thing Uther had taught his son very early, that this was not as absurd as he would have thought; that it was perfectly possible for someone to help you, to guide you, to save you and appear to be your friend, and yet be following their own agenda the whole time, and be ready to betray you in the most horrible, abject way.

So instead, he only looked down and said.

"I only want to stay. I said I'm happy to be your servant, and I mean it. I had to do something, and I didn't think I'd come back, but I never wanted to leave you." He glanced up; Arthur was still studying him attentively; how long had he suspected, Merlin wondered? "Please, you have to believe me, I only ever tried to keep you safe with it."

"Really," said Arthur, with an edge to his voice that reminded Merlin of their first two meetings, and as if he were reading his thoughts, Arthur went on: "Because I remember how we met. And I don't usually stumble that much."

"You were trying to kill me!" Merlin complained, without attempting to deny it.

The prince snorted.

"If I'd really wanted to kill you, you would have been dead in less than a minute."

The teasing tone, for all it felt rather mean-spirited, was a bit of a relief, compared to the sharp coldness.

"So you were trying to chase me through half the market and _then_ kill me," Merlin snapped. "I was only –" he paused, and said in a calmer voice. "I was trying to stay alive."

Arthur seemed to deflate at that; he shook his head at him, and there was something akin to fascination in his inquisitive look.

"What are you doing in Camelot in the first place?" he asked, and waved his sword around, but more like he wasn't quite aware he was holding it than menacingly.

"I didn't know how it was, at first. And then I – felt I belonged here."

He bit his lips.

"You're a sorcerer," Arthur said, with a certain relish, apparently enjoying saying this out loud, "and you thought that the _place where you can get killed for using sorcery_ was where you belonged!? Are you insane?" Merlin winced. "Why?" Arthur said again, after a brief silence.

_It's my destiny_, Merlin almost answered, before he remembered that this was no longer the certitude he had taken it for for so long, because the one who had told him so often was not who he thought he was.

"Someone told me, and I believed him at the time. And then – because of _you_. I don't want anything to happen to you."

He stared right into Arthur's eyes pleadingly. The prince slowly lowered his sword.

"Fine," he said slowly, and seemed to be coming to a decision; Merlin silently prayed that said decision wouldn't involve axes or dungeons. "I suppose that whatever it is you're after, it probably doesn't involve killing me. Though," he added, "considering how utterly incompetent you are, it is possible that you'd protect me from magical creatures and then try to poison my food." He glared at him, and looked a bit put off by the lack of response to the insult. "So," he said, decidedly, "I'm going to have breakfast now."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said unsurely, understanding that this wasn't over, but that apparently they had a temporary truce. "Do you want me to –"

"You're staying here," Arthur said, steel in his voice.

Merlin swallowed at the clear implication of "where I can watch you", and nodded.

Arthur sat down, and laid his sword down on the table by his plate.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

Merlin shook his head: he hadn't been able to, and he'd been too eager to see Arthur.

"Sit down then," Arthur gestured at the chair across of his.

Merlin nodded: he was still not hungry, but glad to have anything to do but stand there and worry; it was only a moment later that he realised he'd been tricked into tasting Arthur's food, which was going a little far, he found, considering they'd had arguments about who was going to get to drink the poison twice to this date.

"So..." said Arthur, after they'd both eaten in silence for a while, the atmosphere somehow less oppressive than Merlin might have expected; the prince's face had softened, and so far, he hadn't looked at his sword once since he'd laid it down." Are you going to tell me what exactly you've been doing and why this whole time?" Merlin glanced up and finally gave a small nod. "_You_ found me an antidote for the beast's poison, didn't you?"

"Yes," Merlin said; he didn't think he'd get out of explaining the details anymore, but for now, it was close enough to the truth.

Arthur nodded.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

For some reason, it made Merlin nervous; the almost wistful way it was said, he could easily see it followed by "but I'm sure you will understand that I have to kill you now anyway."

This was not, however, what Arthur said next; instead he asked him about all their other adventures; the interrogation – for that was what it really was, despite of the semblance of a chat over shared breakfast – made Merlin increasingly anxious, to the point where he missed the way Arthur, on the contrary, relaxed slowly the more he found out.

"It told you to let the king die," Arthur repeated, after Merlin had very, very carefully edged his way through that story without implicating Morgana; there'd been no way to pretend Gaius hadn't known, Arthur would never have believed him, and he had no scruples about the dragon, but there was no reason to drag her into this. "And you didn't. And then you went back to it for advice anyway." He braced his forehead against his hand and glanced up at him, eyes rolled up, and sighed deeply. "And _then_ –"

"Yes, alright," Merlin said, nervously. "I'm an idiot, I know – now could you please just stop this and tell me whether you're going to have me killed or not, _sire?_"

Arthur raised his head and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You know," he warned darkly, "if I denounced you, _like by law I should_, you would be tortured for that information instead."

"I could get out of it," Merlin threw back, and crossed his arms, forgetting to be afraid: he knew that threatening with his magic now was the least intelligent thing he could do, but he could not take this much longer.

To his surprise, Arthur didn't look angry in the least.

"I guessed as much," he said, softly, and he almost sounded pleased, and then he smirked faintly, and added, even softer: "But you can't get out this...?" He waved a piece of bread at him.

Merlin blinked, wondered for a brief moment if Arthur was going to make him eat the bread as some extremely bizarre kind of punishment, before he began to understand: Arthur had never really been afraid, not of him taking any direct action against him, he'd said as much, and had he been toying with him this whole time...?

"You –"

"And I'm _not_ going to have you executed. I'm just trying to figure out if I should chain you up somewhere for the rest of your life." He cocked his head. "Or maybe I could talk to your mother, and convince her to take you back with her. Maybe _she_ could make you stay away from Camelot."

Merlin winced inwardly and thought: _no, she couldn't_. He had not yet told Arthur all the details about his fight with Nimueh, and he didn't want to, didn't want to think about it too much, because somewhere at the edge of his consciousness was the terrifying knowledge that, had he known what Nimueh was planning to do when he offered a life for Arthur's he would – he couldn't even finish the thought. And of course, he might have found the anger and the desperation to destroy her sooner, might have forced her to take his life instead – but when he'd said "anything", he'd meant it, and even for his mother, he wouldn't have backed out, could not.

"You _know_," he said, faintly accusing and resigned. "That I would do anything for you?"

Arthur's smile was luminous, and it was only now that Merlin realised that, if they were what he hoped and believed they were to each other, then the prospect of losing him must have been as horrible to Arthur as the opposite was to him, and despite of himself, he felt his anger evaporate.

"You should know the same is true for me," Arthur said, trying for that solemn air he sometimes got, but smiling a little stupidly.

And Merlin didn't _want_ this, didn't want Arthur to have to make this choice, between him and his father, yet he found himself smiling back, probably just as stupidly, and held Arthur's gaze for a long time before he broke contact, then looked back up, a little annoyed.

"That doesn't make it fair," he said petulantly. "Because _I'm_ not a prat and use it to..." He breathed deeply. "I really thought you were going to _kill_ me. You utter –"

"I send you to muck out the stables as a punishment for being disrespectful to your prince, and you just wave a stick at them –" He mimicked the gesture. "– and go have a nice day. _That's_ unfair." Merlin glared at him (he didn't _wave sticks_ at things, and using magic in a place as public as the stables was almost impossible, and it wasn't like _Arthur_ was ever respectful to _him_ either!), and Arthur passed a hand through his hair and looked down at the table, nervous. "I just needed to make sure." He glanced up at him, a hopeful look in his eyes. "You know?"

It was probably the closest thing to an apology he was going to get, without pushing, at any rate. For now, he just nodded.

"And? Did you?" He'd meant to sound sarcastic, but failed completely. "Do you trust me?" He gave up all pretence when Arthur didn't answer, and sounded fearful when he asked: "Arthur?"

"Should I?" the prince asked. "Did you tell me the truth, just now?"

"Yes!" Merlin exclaimed, hastily, and then amended, guiltily: "I might have left out a few things, but I didn't lie." He paused; Arthur was looking at him oddly. "What?"

Arthur shook his head at him and stood up.

"You're probably lucky no-one ever _asks_ you if you're a sorcerer."

Merlin leant back on his chair and followed Arthur with his eyes as the prince went to a cupboard to get out new clothes, because it was demanding too much of him to wear the same ones several days without them getting washed to destruction in between or something.

"No-one would believe me if I said yes, everyone thinks I'm too stupid to possibly be a sorcerer. I've got you to thank for that."

"Yes," said Arthur, sounding rather pleased with himself, instead of claiming that Merlin could make himself look like an idiot very well by himself. "You do."

"Did you know, then?" asked Merlin, standing up as well and walking over to the prince to help him getting dressed. "When I admitted it, did you know I was telling the truth?"

"I didn't think about it," Arthur said with a shrug, and Merlin gave an annoyed hiss as the gesture slid the jacket's arm he'd just helped him into off his shoulder again. "I was more concerned with getting you to shut the hell up." He turned round to him, raised a hand as if to touch him and let it sink again. "You need to be more careful," he said quietly.

"I'm always careful," said Merlin, brightly.

Arthur cuffed him on the back of his head.

"I mean it," he said. "Be careful. That's an order."

Merlin nodded and smiled sweetly, getting an annoyed glare in return.

"I don't know why I bother with you," Arthur murmured, but it sounded affectionate, so Merlin decided not to point out that if anything was strange, it was how _he_ put up with _Arthur_.

fin

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_Comments are greatly appreciated, as always. ;)_


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